


Drawn In

by Wyndle (mollymauks)



Series: First Things First [1]
Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, IT'S SO FLUFFY Y'ALL, i know i did, i know! i don't recognise me either, it's a miracle, like it's just soft and ridiculous the whole way through, no seriously, pls enjoy this mushy content, rhythm of war, there is nothing in here that isn't absolutely happy, there isn't a shred of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29364546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mollymauks/pseuds/Wyndle
Summary: Pre Rhythm of War: Jasnah and Wit's first kiss. Canon compliant. It's soft and it's fluffy and a little dramatic in places (bc Wit) but it's /what they deserved/!!!'Counter to the vicious rumours and harsh jibes, Jasnah was still human. She did not experience lust the same as others that she knew. But she was also not a frozen husk of a woman, devoid of need, or want for companionship and comfort.A part of her longed for this connection with another person, this intimacy, this want that she increasingly found only with him.He was dangerous, yes, but he made her feel safe. He made mock of everyone around him, but for her he made sense, and certainty, of things she’d never thought to understand. He was a roamer, a drifter, a wanderer, untethered and bound. But he was hers.'
Relationships: Hoid (Cosmere)/Jasnah Kholin, Jasnah Kholin/Wit (Stormlight Archive)
Series: First Things First [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2157042
Comments: 24
Kudos: 35





	Drawn In

**Author's Note:**

> shout out to the person in the comment of another fic who gently requested 'first times' for these two. I took that prompt and went BANANAS with it. this was supposed to be a little series of vingettes of different firsts in their relationship but i got carried away and now apparently it's a series of full blown fics starting with this 4.5k monster. yay for Taryn's lack of self control!

“So Investiture will be found on planets with one Shard or more?” Jasnah said, speaking the words aloud as she wrote them shorthand in her notebook. 

Conversing with Wit was always a stimulating process. He seemed to view each conversation as something of a duel. The chance to spar, to test his opponent, feel them out, offer them new challenges, new quips that required responses, new information that needed to be processed, new barbs to return in kind. It was invigorating. 

Lately, they had been spending more and more time together. He was the Queen’s Wit, and as such he accompanied her to most public gatherings she attended, as was proper. 

Something that was decidedly less proper, by Alethi standards, was the amount of time they were now spending together alone behind closed doors. 

Nothing untoward had happened between them. Not yet. At times she wondered if she had fabricated the impression that it could. Then she would catch a glint in his eye, the edge of a smile curving across his clever mouth, the way his eyes sometimes darted to her lips as they spoke. 

There was flirtation, too. Gentle, for the most part. He was not from this world, but he knew the Alethi well enough never to push too hard or too far. Even if she was not, strictly speaking, Vorin, the society they played within was, and there were rules that had to be abided to. 

Outside of that, she had never been one for flowery compliments, or overt, blunt attempts at seduction. They felt hollow and insincere to her, not to mention distastefully brusque. It reminded her of Amaram’s entitled insistence in his pursuit of her. She did not like being made to feel she was a hog bound at the end of a rope to lure the waiting chasmfiend. 

She preferred something altogether more subtle and cerebral than the usual Alethi courting methods. Someone who would dare to draw close to her, to tease at implications of what might, to pique her mental curiosity, stimulate her mind, who worked to connect with her, truly, on the most important levels. 

Wit...Wit was dangerously skilled at that. And he seemed to know it was what she wanted, seemed to read the eagerness, and the intent, in her responses. 

Indeed, she had considered courting him. Truly courting him, and allowing him to court her. 

So much so that she had discussed it with Ivory. He was the only person whose view on the matter she considered worth taking. Had he protested, she would have heeded him, and regardless of how invigorating she found Wit, it would have gone no further. 

However, Ivory, like her, was intrigued. He felt it would be a ‘good new avenue to explore for her personal growth’. She didn’t view it quite as logically as that. There was some feeling behind her own interest. More than some, if she was honest. 

It was late, now. They were tucked away together, deep in her chambers of Urithiru. If anyone heard of it there would be a great scandal. She was, as far as Vorin society was concerned, a single woman. She would be expected to be chaperoned, to ensure Wit didn’t try anything inappropriate with her. 

Wit seemed to consider the very definition of what each people he visited ‘inappropriate’ to be his own personal playground. He liked to establish himself within the boundaries of propriety, then slowly test, and push, and pry at them. And occasionally set them on fire and watch them burn with barely restrained glee. 

He had revealed much to her in the time he’d spent as her Wit. She’d met him before, of course, and guessed at his nature and origins, but she had coaxed more concrete answers from him now. 

He was an ancient creature, unlike anything she, or anyone else upon Roshar, had met before. He had visited other worlds, had witnessed their destruction, as well as the birth of the Shards that now held sway in the Cosmere at large.

The knowledge he held within his mind was incredible, incomparable.

The Heralds had been a revelation to her, as a dedicated historian. They were history come alive, walking, talking, sharing their truth with her. 

Wit was the same. Yet so much more. For he was the living history of not only her planet, but many more besides. 

Jasnah _relished_ this time they spent alone together. Speaking with him, learning the secrets he carried, the keys to understanding her powers, and the powers of Roshar and beyond. 

He seemed to thrive upon her questions, as much as she thrived upon asking them. He was a showman, she knew, a performer. He liked to have an audience to play to. He had stories in his soul, and his purpose was to give them to others, as he felt was appropriate. 

“Quite correct,” he replied, absently, not looking at her but making some note on the papers he had propped on his legs. 

He was lounging back in his chair, boots up on her desk, which she permitted when they were alone together. If that was his comfort, she would not complain. She was not Dalinar, with military discipline drilled into her. She would not chide a man for sitting as he would in a moment of private companionship. 

There was a stack of parchment balanced on his raised thighs. She suspected he was taking his own notes on their conversation. He had done so before, after she had made some observation he’d actually found original and interesting enough to write down. 

She hadn’t thought, after all his years of life, that she would be able to provide him with anything he had not already experienced from someone else. It seemed that she had been wrong, and that he found her as intoxicating and stimulating as she found him.

She didn’t object to him writing, either. She found the tradition of forbidding a person from their potential passions or interests based upon some arbitrary concept like gender a foolish prohibition.

Although, not having to deal with men in the hallowed spaces of her research had been refreshing, at times. Excluding a rough half of a population's minds from any topic was ridiculous, she felt. 

Besides, Wit had learned to read and write long before Rosharans had even thought it unseemly. He was beyond such things. Indeed, some days he’d confessed to her he was beyond such things as gender. 

“And it can exist in multiple states?” she continued, pushing her thoughts back to the topic of Investiture, stopping them wandering down avenues far darker, and more mysterious, in regards to her and her Wit, “As a gas, such as the mists you described upon Scadriel,” she had to glance at another notebook to check the name of the planet. Wit nodded vaguely, “As a metal,” she said, “Like our Shardblades,” another nod, “Or as a liquid, like that gathered at the Well of Ascension.” 

“Indeed,” he said, making another few marks with his pen, still not looking at her. 

She didn’t mind that, either, but she did lean over to peer at his paper to see just what he was so engrossed in. 

She was surprised to see that he wasn’t writing at all. Instead, he was sketching, with delicate movements of a charcoal pencil he must have filched from her desk drawers while she’d been occupied. It was a rather impressive, and rather detailed, rendition of her. 

Jasnah as he saw her. Her eyes alive, focused on her work, hair unbound, cascading around her shoulders and down her back. Fingers deftly making some notation. Her face beautifully sculpted by sweeping lines of black against the tan parchment.

It was a very different style from Shallan’s, reminiscent of the drawings he had given her to help identify the Heralds. It was less focused on realism, imprinting every aspect of a moment captured in time, and more stylistic. Obviously his work.

There was...A care to his movements, and such an intimacy to his creation that, absurdly, she found herself having to fight down a blush. 

“That’s beautiful,” he murmured, glancing up at her, making swifter, surer strokes with his pencil, “If you’d just hold that pose for a moment more, my dear,” he said, as if this was the purpose of their meetings together. 

“I’m not supposed to be posing, Wit,” she said, composing herself, forcing herself to sound queenly and proper. And perhaps overcompensating, by the flicker of the smirk that he gave her. “I’m supposed to be learning. From you, I might add.” 

“We’re both old enough and ugly enough to do more than one thing at once, I think,” he replied blandly. 

Then he stopped and looked up at her, a faint glint in his eyes. 

“I do apologise,” he said, putting a hand to his chest and giving her a slight bow, without removing his feet from her desk, “I forgot to whom I was speaking for a moment.” 

He reached out and deftly slid a knuckle under her chin, angling her face more towards the pool of light that shone from the goblet of spheres on her desk.

“You’re not quite what I should define ‘old’ just yet,” he said, the smile pulling apparently irresistibly at his lips. 

“Wit,” she said, rolling her eyes, using the motion of turning back to her notes to cover the slight shiver that had pulsed through her at the intensity of his attention upon her a moment before. 

“No, please,” he said, cupping her chin gently between his fingers and turning her back to face him once more. “I’m almost finished,” he said, almost breathless, intent, “You can spare me a moment, surely? For the sake of _art,_ Jasnah.” 

“You know I don’t care over much for art, Wit,” she said, though she did not pull away from him this time, drawn in to the faint glimmer in his eyes, the plea in his tone. 

His touch was strangely electrifying. As if there was Stormlight in his fingertips, sparking between them where his body met hers. The smallest of connections, yet the broadest of implications contained within such a simple gesture. 

“I _know_ ,” he said, with a dramatic sigh, “One of your very few failings, Brightness. We all must have at least one, I’m told. Except me of course.” 

“Of course,” she returned, rolling her eyes again, even as she found herself suddenly, dangerously, drawn in to those bright, sharp blue eyes of his.

“There’s just...Something wrong,” he said, cocking his head to one side, studying every line of her face. 

“Oh?” she said, feeling a spike of alertness breaking through the fog of her intoxication. 

“Yes,” he said, frowning, “Something not quite right. I think it’s your mouth.” 

“My mouth?” she repeated, confused, until she followed his gaze down to his sketch of her. 

“Mm,” he agreed vaguely, nodding, “Your lips have such a precise, sculpted quality to them,” he murmured, his thumb rising from her chin and tracing ever so tenderly over them. 

She had to restrain herself from closing her eyes and leaning in to him. It had been a long time since she had allowed anyone to touch her as intimately as this. It had been a long time since she had _wanted_ anyone to touch her as intimately as this.

“I don’t think I’ve managed to capture it correctly,” he said, mirroring the motions he was making against her skin on the parchment, shaping her mouth more precisely. 

Lines of flesh and lines of charcoal, and breathless daring held together in the stillness between his words, neither of them moving, neither so much as breathing through them. Held. Captivated. Connected.

“That is a shame,” she said, finally, forcing herself to get some words out. 

She should draw away. She should put a stop to this. Should direct them back to their studies. This was more than he had ever dared with her before, further than he had ever pushed his teasing flirtation and gentle courting. She should not allow it. He was dangerous. The pull she felt to him was dangerous. The smart, the _logical_ , thing to do was to walk away. To halt this before it began. 

She didn’t.

She didn’t want to, Storm it. Her world had ended, and she now struggled in the muck, and blood, and ash that remained to see what she could salvage. It was cold, hard, lonely work. As it had been for all those years she’d worked alone, in shadows, unseen, unwanted, untouched. 

Counter to the vicious rumours and harsh jibes, Jasnah was still human. She did not experience lust the same as others that she knew. But she was also not a frozen husk of a woman, devoid of need, or want for companionship and comfort.

A part of her longed for this connection with another person, this intimacy, this want that she increasingly found only with him. 

He was dangerous, yes, but he made her feel safe. He made mock of everyone around him, but for her he made sense, and certainty, of things she’d never thought to understand. He was a roamer, a drifter, a wanderer, untethered and bound. But he was hers. 

“Perhaps,” he said, then paused, licking his lips, almost as though he was nervous. _Do it_ a part of her willed him, _say it. Please_. “Perhaps a closer look?” he murmured. 

She nodded, expectant. But when he slid from his chair and cradled her face in his hands, kneeling in front of her, he only traced the shape of her mouth with a tip of his finger, leaving her disappointed.

Yet she could see the want in his deep eyes, the gentle intrigue, the spark of daring that had led him to reach out and put his hands on her as he had tonight. With far more intimacy and familiarity than he’d ever risked before. 

“Wit,” she said quietly, dislodging one of his fingers. 

His eyes flicked to hers, and she felt her heart fluttering in her chest, as if she were an awkward teenager, fumbling into her first exploration of romance. 

She forced herself under control, and made sure her voice was level when she said, “Do you want to kiss me?” 

He blinked once, startled, then a smile spread across his lips, tentative, still, as if a part of him wondered she might be asking so she could put an end to those thoughts. 

But he nodded, “I do, Your Majesty. Most improper thoughts for a Wit to harbour for his queen, I admit.” 

“More improper still if they are reciprocated,” she said very quietly, watching his smile flare in his eyes at that. 

“Indeed,” he said, now sounding almost breathless, as if he could not quite believe what was happening. 

This feeling was likewise mutual. 

“If you want to kiss me, Wit,” she said, “Perhaps you should stop dancing around it, and just do it.” 

He held himself, suspended by shock, for a single heartbeat. Then he moved, surging towards her like a highstorm’s flood. One hand cupping her cheek, guiding her, the other sliding deft fingers deep into her thick hair. 

Then his mouth was on hers, _finally_ , and she was closing her eyes and sinking into him, and he was moving gently against her. Drawing away for a beat, heavy lidded eyes meeting hers, seeking approval, which she gave. Then again, his lips against hers, heat pulsing between them like a freshly infused gemstone. 

“Ah. Yes. That helped,” he said, smiling softly at her, making to turn back to his sketch, as if that had been the only purpose of their embrace. 

“Yes,” she agreed quietly, “I think that it did.” 

Her tone held him in place and he bit his lip, giving her a small half-smile, no longer keeping up the joke of his sketch. Indeed, he let it slip from his lap, the pencil dropped from uncaring fingers, his attention focused entirely on her now.

“I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to allow me to do that,” he said, still sounding a little breathless, though Stormlight should have dealt with any purely physical exertion.

“I’ve been wondering if you were ever going to try,” she admitted, her fingers stroking absently at an out of place curl of black hair at his forehead. 

Wit smiled more broadly at that, taking her hand and gently brushing the knuckles against his lips, “I did promise you that I would never leave your questions answered.” 

He leaned in for a second kiss but she pulled back, frowning, “You leave my questions unanswered all the time, Wit.” 

“I do not!” he said, affronted, placing a hand over his chest. 

She gave him a flat look, “You disappeared for three weeks last month. Upon your return I asked you where you had been and you told me that you had ‘gone fishin’,” she said, badly mimicking the accent he’d used. 

He smiled and rubbed noses with her, which was the last thing she’d expected, and startled her so much she almost missed his reply.

“Technically, my dear, that _was_ an answer," he said, smiling innocently up at her.

She just stared at him, unimpressed. 

Wit raised a finger, “I promised you I would give you answers. I said absolutely nothing about those answers being of any use to you.” 

Jasnah sighed, then kissed him again. That seemed to take _him_ by surprise, which was pleasing. She found herself smiling against his mouth, and he against hers, and they broke apart, both laughing softly, unable to maintain the kiss. 

“So” Wit said quietly, his eyes flickering up from her lips to meet her gaze, “This is something we do now, is it?”

“I assumed when you said that you wanted to kiss me, that implied more than once,” she replied with a small sniff. 

Wit smirked at her, “Rather presumptuous of you, isn’t that, Your Majesty?” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her in a way only he could get away with doing. 

“Not if I’m right,” she said evenly, “And I am, aren’t I?” 

Wit grinned at her, “This is one of things about you I’m so inordinately fond of, Jasnah.” 

“My ‘unfettered, unyielding, and quite boundless arrogance’?” she asked, smirking slightly at the memory. 

Wit paused, then cocked his head and said, “Ruthar?” 

She inclined her head, confirming that suspicion. His grin broadened. 

“If you’re right, I don’t think that’s arrogance. I think it’s justified confidence in oneself in that circumstance,” he said, musing.

“So I am right, then?” she said, feeling a ridiculous flutter of nervousness as she asked the question, as if he might now turn around and reject her, after everything. 

Wit stroked her cheek with his knuckles and said quietly, “Given that I’ve been thinking about nothing but kissing you again since last we stopped I’d say that yes, your hypothesis has some merit.” 

“I thought I already told you what you should do if you want to kiss me,” she replied, “I am not fond of repeating myself, Wit, you know this.”

“I do apologise, my Queen,” Wit breathed, already leaning in, the words pressed against her lips a moment before his mouth met hers again.

When he drew back again, Wit cupped her face between both hands, gazing up at her, intent, and said quietly, “This is what you want? I am what you want?” 

“Yes, I believe so,” she replied composedly, “I have already come to the conclusion that this is a mostly appropriate course of action to pursue.” 

Wit raised an eyebrow at her and she actually blushed, turning away from him, feeling ridiculous. She had taken charge earlier, had all but commanded him to kiss her, but now she was stumbling around him like a teenager who had never so much as had another person hold her safehand?

“I am not accustomed to this kind of conversation,” she admitted, trying to reassert herself, though feeling horribly awkward at the same time, “It has never been my forte.”

He just shuffled in a little closer, and she realised that he was still kneeling on the floor in front of her while she sat primly at her desk. Storms. What a ridiculous man. 

She stood up then said, “Come, let’s sit somewhere more comfortable, if we’re to have this talk now.” 

Wit stood up as well, but put a gentle hand on her arm, “We don’t have to talk about anything right now,” he said, “It was a kiss. Which may turn into more kisses. Or it may not. We don’t have to define anything just yet, if you aren’t ready for that.” 

She stared at him incredulously.

“Did you hit your head on something as you were standing?” she demanded. 

He blinked, confused. 

“Have you forgotten entirely who I am?" She went on, "I can’t think why else you would say something so ridiculous to me.” 

He snorted with laughter at that. 

“Of course, of course,” he said, waving a hand, “How foolish of me, to attempt to put a woman at ease and remind her she’s under no obligation to me because of a single kiss we shared in the heat of a moment.” 

Jasnah sighed again and rubbed her forehead, wincing. 

It had been some time since she’d had to navigate a romantic relationship and she...Well she hadn’t been exactly good at this to begin with. 

She opened her mouth, but Wit just put a finger to her lips and spared her the trouble of making an even larger storming fool of herself.

“It’s quite alright, my dear,” he said, eyes twinkling in a way that she found, frustratingly, both irritating and enticing all at once, “In fact it’s rather refreshing. It’s the apocalypse, after all, we haven’t time to waste with pointless pleasantries and empty reassurances. Lead on, your Majesty.”

Still grinning, he slid his hand into hers and allowed her to draw him over to the reclining couch she had set up on the opposite side of the room to her study desk. A place for more relaxed reading or meditation. 

They both settled themselves, Wit still smirking at her, and she withdrew her hand from his and clasped it in her lap, not looking at him.

“So,” Wit said, leaning in, and raising his eyebrows suggestively, “You’ve, let me make sure I get this correct,” he cleared his throat, and his already deep voice lowered even further as he said in a breathy, exaggerated, voice, “‘Come to the conclusion that I am a mostly appropriate course of action to pursue’ have you?” 

She stared at him flatly, and in direct counter to his hyperbolic seduction, which had intensified to the point that he was now fluttering his eyelashes at her, replied as matter-of-factly as she could, “Indeed. Ivory and I have already discussed it together at some length.” 

That made him sit up, suddenly dropping the act, which surprised her, as she’d expected him to drag at least a few more minutes of torment out of it. 

“You spoke to Ivory about us?” he said, in normal tones again. 

“Of course,” she said, frowning slightly, unsure why he thought this so worthy of remarking upon, “Any relationship I am involved in will directly impact upon him. It was only right that he be allowed a say in it.” 

“You wish to embark upon a relationship with me?” Wit repeated, a little dazed, as though she’d just swung a heavy weight into the side of his head. 

“Yes, Wit,” she said, then narrowed her eyes and drew away from him, “Unless you are only interested in a physical distraction with me,” she added, feeling suddenly cold at the prospect, “In which case this ends here, with no further conversation required on the matter.” 

“No,” Wit said, quickly, his voice gentle and reassuring. 

He reached out and took her hand to stop her retreating from him. When she hesitantly allowed this, he squeezed it and scooted closer, bumping his shoulder against hers in a manner that he apparently saw as affectionate.

"Not at all, Jasnah,” he said, shaking his head. Then he paused and added, “The kissing was very pleasant, I must admit. But there is more here, Jasnah, much more.”

He met her eyes, and there was a depth to him he had rarely allowed her to see there. Knowledge, and history, and _life_ and all of it focusing entirely upon her and this moment. It was almost overwhelming. 

She nodded slowly, running her thumb absently back and forth on the top of his hand, “It has been some time since I have connected with someone the way I have with you these past months,” she confessed quietly. 

Despite the fact that she had kissed him mere minutes before, despite admitting she had spoken with Ivory about him, despite the fact she’d all but told him that she wished to embark on a relationship with him...That revelation made her feel suddenly vulnerable. Almost to the point that she instinctively withdrew, before he saw, before he could use it as a weak point to hurt her. 

But something in him held her there. Like a Windrunner balanced on a surge, suspended above a chasm, unable to fall, to retreat to the ground where it was safe, and familiar, while the thrill of the flight kept them airborne, free, unwillingly to remember what life had felt like before this intensity, this rush of feeling and joy.

Wit nodded to her, squeezing her hand again, stopping her from falling, as she had so many times before, “I feel the same way,” he admitted, “You are a truly extraordinary woman, Jasnah Kholin,” he breathed, huffing a soft laugh and shaking his head. “And I would be lying if I tried to claim that I had seen this coming. I doubt even Cultivation-” he broke off, shaking his head. 

Taking a breath he composed himself, and met her eyes once more, tenderly cupping her cheek in his hand. She allowed him, once again feeling as though something in his touch was electrified, as though something sparked between them at the merest brush of his skin against hers. 

“You took me utterly by surprise, Jasnah,” he said, his voice now soft and sincere, “I knew you were a woman of uncommon beauty, of unsurpassing intelligence, and wit, even before I joined your court,” he added, seemingly unable to stop himself. Then he sobered, his voice gentler, more serious, “But I could never have predicted the effect that you would have on me. How stimulating your companionship could be, how addictive spending time with you could become.” 

She nodded, barely conscious of the gesture, then she cleared her throat and said, “Is this your long winded, Wit way of telling me that you want to be in a relationship with me as well?” 

Wit laughed at that, but it was a fond laugh, not meant to mock or hurt. He stroked his fingers through her hair and said, “Would it be more direct and obvious if I just kissed you again?” he asked. 

“I certainly don’t think it could hurt,” she replied flatly, even as something in her chest fluttered in excitement at the prospect. 

He did just that, but broke away before she was ready for it to end and said, “Jasnah Kholin.” She didn’t have a chance to reply before he was kissing her again. “I am telling you now,” Another kiss. “In _no_ uncertain terms whatsoever,” He kissed her once more. “That I _absolutely_ ,” Another kiss. “Without a doubt,” She was smiling now. “Or a _shred_ of hesitation,” he kissed her once more. “That I, your Wit,” he leaned in for another kiss but met only her finger, pressed against his lips and blocking him. 

He raised his eyes to meet hers without drawing back from and said, the words mangled by the press of her finger against him, “Am asking you if you would-” 

“Wit,” she groaned, shaking her head, even if she was still smiling at his antics. 

He straightened up, also grinning, and said, “I want to be in a relationship with you, Jasnah. A romantic relationship. With you as my partner. If that is something you think would please you?” 

In answer, to be quite sure he understood her completely, she kissed him again. 

***

**Author's Note:**

> if you do think 'yay for Taryn's lack of self control' pls leave me a comment! I read them all, even if I don't quite get to reply to everyone, and they bring me lots of joy. and hey! sometimes they bring y'all new fics. win win.


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